


you would find her in a polaroid picture

by mysticalalleycat



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (mentions Sasha's death), Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen, I cannot stop thinking about the tapes from 161 and 162, and that hurts, they used to be happy!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:56:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29516352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysticalalleycat/pseuds/mysticalalleycat
Summary: Tim forgot about the memories he'd saved from better days. He's not sure that he wanted to find them again.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	you would find her in a polaroid picture

**Author's Note:**

> How did Jonah get the tape that Tim intentionally recorded for the memories? Was it just left in the archive, or did he pull some spooky shit later? Did Tim keep it around? I decided yes because the concept made me sad!!! What a podcast.
> 
> title from "She" by dodie.

Tim recorded the start of the party. He wasn’t sure why, really, just thought it might be nice to have some audio in with his memories, and it was kind of fun to mess with the tape recorder--seriously, why do they have  _ tape recorders _ ? He doesn’t think about the recording again for a long time, letting it slip into the past with the memory of the cake and wine, with his excitement, his smile.

A few days before the Unknowing, Tim pulls an old box out from the back of his closet. He’d nearly forgotten about it, really. When he first started filling it, he meant to keep up with it, keep adding new memories and looking back on the old ones. At some point it had just...slipped his mind, as the breakroom parties and nights out had gotten fewer and fewer. Even before everything had gone to hell, the time between them had been growing, and just. He’d forgotten. It was a bit of a miracle that he even remembered that the box existed, really.

He pulls it out and sees the ticket stubs, the paper napkins with doodles, the photographs he had gotten printed, and--oh. A polaroid. Someone at some bar once on a night out had had a camera, offered to take a photo. There’s Jon, less grey in his hair, unscarred, not the paranoid mess he is now. There were still dark circles under his eyes, even back then, though. There’s Tim, looking...happy. God, when was the last time he felt like that? The last time he smiled? He’s not sure his face even remembers how anymore. And- oh god. Oh. There’s- well. Someone Tim doesn’t recognize, can’t recognize, and yet. He  _ knows _ who the third person in the polaroid is, but the person in the printed photographs is the one in his memories from this night and yet he knows he knows he  _ knows _ .

He puts the polaroid back into the box, before the tears that had started to run down his face--when did they start?--ruin it. Looking back into the box, he sees a tape. God, he’s so sick of tapes. He goes to his bag and pulls out a tape recorder anyway. When did it get in there? Did he put it in there, or was it some trick of that fucking place again? Does it matter? Goddamnit. Tim puts the tape into the slot and presses play.

He almost smiles as the old recording begins to play, remembering Jon’s startled surprise and all their excitement. Almost. And he hears her. She doesn’t speak a lot on the recording, but oh god,  _ that’s her _ , and she’s laughing and that’s her that’s her that’s her and Tim doesn’t recognize the voice. He tries. He tries so hard and rewinds the tape to hear her again and again but all it brings is an ache in his chest as he hears their happiness over and over. He wonders if there are other tapes like this, hiding somewhere in the archive. God knows the fucks turn themselves on enough, it seems likely. Or maybe just others with her voice on them, maybe follow-up that she did? He wonders if he even wants to hear them, to remember and not remember all at once.

  
He puts the tape, still in the recorder, back into the box, shoves the box away, back into the back of his closet. It doesn’t matter now. None of it does, it’s all  _ gone _ , he’s lost them  _ all _ . There’s only one thing left to do, really. Tim goes to bed numb again that night, wakes up angry in the morning. He still can’t remember what she looked like, what she sounded like. Does that hurt more or less than remembering every detail of Danny’s face in the early hours of the morning, before he went back to the theatre? He’s not sure. Tim shakes it off, gets ready for the day. He’s going to end this.


End file.
